A Night to Remember
by kirby1991
Summary: Sort of an alternate version of 3x5. Perhaps a more behind-the-scenes look. From the VP of Rachel.


A Night to Remember

I can feel his breath, hot. It's dragging down the back of my neck, then back up my neck. He can't decide where to go first. It doesn't matter to me, though, because it feels amazing either way. Somehow, my hand manages its way to the back of his head, pulling him closer. He takes the opportunity and moves to my neck.

There's a sound erupting from my throat now. My whole body feels on fire. The chills rock me from my shoulder blades down to my toes; I know he can feel it, because I feel him grin against me. He moves and playfully nips my ear, unaware to him (and myself, to be quite honest) that this is a hot spot for me. Yes…hot spot. It will get me going faster than Barbra Streisand on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Another small gurgle erupts from my throat. He pulls away, seeming surprised. He's probably never heard me like this before.

"Babe," he says, seeming worried. "Do you need to do some vocal runs? They always help with your nerves." He affectionately rubs my stomach from behind; he's holding me, with my back to him. I shake my head, almost vehemently. "Absolutely not," I barely manage to get out. Before I know it, I turn around and pull him into a kiss.

He seems surprised at fist. He's used to taking the lead. At least when we're making out. I carefully move my hand to his face and pull him down a bit closer to me. I want to savor this moment. There is such an insane and combustible connection between us.

He assumes the lead once more and loosely wraps his arms around my back, walking me backwards to my bed. It's a bit more spacious than his, strangely. He carefully lays me back and moves to hover over me. He smiles down at me and moves my hair from my eyes. He's having trouble formulating words. It seems to happen a lot when he looks at me.

"You ma'am, are the most beautiful woman on planet Earth," he reminds me before leaning down and kissing me. As if I need reminded. He tells me nearly everyday.

Carefully, I move my hands up his shirt, which is hanging loosely off him. He's worked hard to trim the baby fat - though I always found it endearing. He was handsome no matter what. My hands slide up his abdomen. I can feel his skin burning beneath me. He flinches a little bit but continues his movements, letting me explore a bit. My hands make it to his chest, my fingers gently curling. He always love it when I trace hearts through his shirt.

I swear, I hear him purr. Slowly, I push his shirt completely off. He seems hesitant at first, at least until he figures out I'm impressed. He smiles shyly down at me, pointing to the buttons on my dress. "Can I?" he asks politely. He's being so perfect and gentlemanlike. I nod slowly and raise my arms. He stops me. "No," he demands, though softly. He lowers my arms back down, going one button at a time.

Out of nowhere, his lips follow the movements of his fingers. My eyes widen and my face lights up. He smirks, able to feel my body heat rising beneath him. He finally gets to the last one and leaves it, on purpose. He moves back up, carefully tugging my sleeves down, my top-half gradually becoming more and more open to him. I can see his grin growing the more my skin shows.

He leans back down and kisses me again, as if sensing my worry. He pulls away, his hand finding my cheek. "Are you sure?" he asks quietly, wanting both of us to be prepared for this. I swallow and nod quickly. He nods in understanding before finally ridding me of my dress. I can feel him stare again. I look down, brows furrowed. "Is something wrong?" My voice seems shakier than normal. He shakes his head in return. "Absolutely not," he says sternly, sort of scolding me for asking. He carefully runs his calloused hand down my abdomen, the light touch sending shockwaves through me. I shiver.

He takes the blanket and tents it over us. His hands slide slowly down my sides to my hips, subtly pushing me out of my gold star-lined underwear. By this time, they need a few good runs in the washer. His eyes widen once he realizes this, after pushing them down. By this time, my own hands were reaching out and pushing his jeans and boxers off. I didn't realize how close they were together. I blush a bit at the sight.

"You…" I look over on my nightstand. Thankfully, ever modern Jewish girl comes prepared. I shyly grab the box and open one, or at least try. He watches me, sort of bemused. "You're so cute," he reminds me as he watches my fingers struggle. I playfully shove the condom into his bare chest, teasing him. "Either you open this, or that poor mailman is going to be hit by a train." As if I have the ability to act on such a threat, he quickly takes it from me and opens it with his teeth.

"There," he mumbles, to alleviate any potential damage, though there is none. I take the little rubber doohinky and he laughs, watching me some more. I sit up, moving him with me, and he rests back on his bottom. "Just, uh…" He gently grabs my wrist and guides me along. I can feel my whole body shake. His too. Though, part of me suspects that this is ecstasy on his part. It's finally on. He sighs with relief before carefully laying me back down again.

"It's going to hurt," he warns, comforting me already. "And I just want you to know, we can stop any time." He nods with certainty. Clearly, waiting a lifetime wouldn't have had an impact on him. He seems too lost in the moment. I simply nod, as if I was beckoning myself off to war. It would probably feel like it later.

He lowers himself, seeming hesitant. Carefully, he pushes open my legs, as if the slightest movement would break me into pieces. I rub his arms; they've always been nice, but they seem so much stronger now. He smiles, appreciating the attention. Carefully - and very easily, strangely gentlemanlike - he pushes himself into me.

He was right; this hurts like none other. My eyes immediately close, tears stinging them. He frowns, not expecting this. Before I can wipe the tears, he already is, offering to stop. I shake my head. "N-no…" I breathe. "Keep going." He raises an eyebrow and continues his journey inward. The pain doesn't subside, at least not yet. There is an immense burning.

"I should stop," he finally says again, seeming determined in this. I sit up a bit, practically threatening his life. "No," I say sternly, though shakily. "Please. Keep going." He nods in compliance, figuring it best to continue the rhythm.

After what seems like forever, the pain slowly dies. My hands - as if being controlled by someone else - fall slowly down his chest. He smiles a little, seeing that I'm finally feeling good. "You're beautiful," he reminds me. He lowers himself enough that his nose rests on my shoulder, his lips sprinkling them with surprise kisses.

My arms loop around his shoulders before rubbing his back. Soon, another moan escapes. It's from both of us. My hand find its way to his hair, tangling itself in his short, brown locks. They always manage to smell so _good. _He moans again, rather quietly, as if his pleasure is outweighed by my previous discomfort.

I move my hips up and the real show begins. As if I've unleashed a whole new Finn, he begins a rhythm. A steady one, not necessarily fast. And it doesn't hurt. Judging by the octaves my moans reach, the complete opposite. He's not quite as loud, though I can tell it feels good to him.

There are a few occasions where our bodies are meeting completely. He entangles our legs so we don't become separated in the throws of passion.

He starts to get a bit more adventurous; his hands glide down to my butt. I feel him growl a bit. I let out a soft giggle, though it's quickly muffled with a moan. Soon, he moves his head back and locks eye contact with me. It's the most intense five seconds of my life, but something both happens between us.

I see his face soften a bit, nearly twisting in a way that I've never seen before. Mine must do the same, because he cracks a smile after he's finished.

And it's done. He goes to talk, but can't. He simply rests his chin on my shoulder, our breathing labored and uneven. My hand continues to comb through his hair, secretly styling it for him. "Now _that meant something," he finally gets out. I feel myself smile brighter than the sun. "It meant everything," I clarify._

_He smiles at me. It's like the type of love reserved for a man and his favorite football jersey. I've never seen this look to him before. I can see my reflection in his eyes. He leans down and kisses me slowly. I can feel the little whiskers on his chin tickle me._

"_I love you."_

"_I love you most."_


End file.
